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Esoteric Investigations
Esoteric Investigations is the current arc of the roleplay thread, run by MobileLeprechaun. It is the twenty-fifth arc in an ongoing series. Characters Player Characters * Park Sung-Chul * Logan * Aichi Sendou * Koata Rider * Mars * Bianca Salvadore * Shotaro Hidari * Marc Spector * Luffy * Gertrude Blackbourne * Izuku Midoriya * Audrey Chance * Connor Cage * Hanam * Neil "Lockon" Dylandy * Gesicht * Shadow the Hedgehog * Dr. Robotnik * Samantha Kiley * Dia Introduction “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck–!” He ran as fast as he could through the darkness, the bristly tops of the pines illuminated by full moon above. Pines as far as he could see, stretching into the endless night, walling him in like an animal. “No, God, no! Please!” Crunch of cones, leaves, snail shells underfoot, earthy musk of the recent rain on the piny bed of forest detritus. Invigorating scent, reeking of urgency. Urgency kept him running. Tromp tromp tromp tromp. His assailant’s footfalls were a steady thunder behind him, keeping their rhythm even as the terrain became uneven. His own legs struggled, heart thrumming in his chest and arms raking at the night air as he nearly tripped over a small log. SHIT it slowed him up, the cowled blur behind him seized the moment like a starving dog, gaining ground...! He winced and gave an exasperated howl, pushing forward with all of his strength. Family, thousands of miles away, assuming he would come home. Friends, for whom he made this long journey, innocently sleeping. Ambitions, years old, barely fulfilled. His feet ravaged the damp ground, barely registering the pain of each shock as they propelled him forward. Even his lungs had stopped stinging from each frantic gasp. If he could just keep this up, just push through the pain and fear with the belief that he could survive this– SHHK. Pain, multiplied tenfold, searing agony in his chest, gasp choked by swift gush of blood–! NO, fucking hell, how– His bleary, teary eyes stared straight into the near-empty darkness of the killer’s cowl, illuminated from below by the glint of moonlight reflecting from the long machete blade. Or at least the exposed part. Half was now buried in his flesh. How, goddamnit, how could they have– they were just behind and–… It’s not right! It- it doesn’t make sense, it’s just not right... His knees, relieved of their task, gave way. The stifling choke washed up and into his head as its precious oxygen ebbed out with each trickle of blood. He could feel the cool blade slip back out of its neat wound as he fell back into a bed of pine needles. ...This can’t be… happening… He could barely feel it as the killer gently pushed something into his wound. He winced, the blurry shape protruding from his chest slowly coming into focus. A wicker sculpture of a long, bladed weapon. A woven replica of the machete that killed him. Norm Andrews’ eyes drooped half-shut, a final breath escaping his bloodstained lips. Not sparing so much as a final glance, the hooded figure of his killer slipped away into the pines. “...God fucking–” The tall, fair-featured young woman held a hand over her mouth, trying to keep rigid to quell her shakes. Her throat grew tight. There he lay. God, so much smaller than he looked yesterday. He was so tall at the diner, so alive and jovial and funny and now– now he just fucking–… gruesome, twisted wicker sculpture in his chest, she could hardly look without retching. God, why didn’t she dissuade him…? The Weaver hadn’t been active in about a month, sure, but– Jesus, she should have known better, they could have gone to Shreveport or something… They killed him. There was no getting him back. She took in a hissing, tense breath through her teeth, trying to keep the welling up of tears under control so they wouldn’t seep out from under her sunglasses. Even if he was her friend, she couldn’t afford to get emotional. He was gone now, leaving a husk behind, another gruesome chunk of evidence for the case. Gloves on, goggles on, clipboard in hand. Cher Bordeaux still had a job to do. “...Que puta suerte.” Two dark-brown eyes narrowed in disgust at the phone screen before them. The woman to whom they belonged scrolled through the lengthy email, pausing only in brief spurts to take in crucial nuggets of information. That stupid Weaver case again, in that sleepy little resort town she couldn’t give two shits about… But as fate would have it, an Australian citizen ended up this killer’s latest victim at about 3:00 AM that morning, found stabbed in the piny thicket outside the hotel where he was lodged. Wasn’t just good ol’ boys and church girls anymore, this bastard had gotten ahold of a foreign national… What a clusterfuck. Groaning into her thermos of espresso, she took a swig and began to type a response. Director Hale, Thank you for informing me of the increasing severity of this matter. Please inform the Grayrock Police Department and other local law enforcement that the Esoteric Investigation Task Force (EITF) will be dispatched within the next 48 hours and will be aiding them in their investigation of this string of murders. Respectfully, Case Officer Marina C. Mendez Federal Bureau of Intelligence Washington D.C. Field Office Email: m.c.mendez@ic.fbi.gov Cell 202-555-0130 One lookover before shrugging and hitting “send”. She knew it’d append the annoying little “Sent from my iPhone” bit to the end, but she really didn’t care at that point. It was better just to get this tired affair started so it wouldn’t drag out too long. God knows if it did, she herself might be sent down there, and she wasn’t having any of that. “...Yeah… Shit. Sorry about this, guys.” Sighing, she closed out of her Mail app and opened up Contacts. She was gonna need to dig up a lot of weirdos for this one, and she only had two in mind so far. “Aw damnit! Fuckin’ tricksy bullshit…” The short, wild-haired man grimaced as he watched the little pink ball roll just a few inches past the hole. It stopped at the feet of a plastic giraffe, its neck and grinning face extended downward as if to mock the putt it just witnessed. “Ah, it’s alright, Logan! That was very good, actually, and I think you’ll just improve as time goes on, yes?” Another man, slightly shorter, neater-haired and a good deal heavier, put on his most encouraging smile for his companion, patting him on the shoulder. “Whatever… ‘Least you found a game we’re both shit at, eh Poindexter?” Logan remained indifferent to the gesture and stepped towards the ball and the hole, lining up for his next putt. He winded up, but paused before tapping the ball, looking back at the other gentleman. “...Why’d you choose minigolf anyhow?” “Ah, well–” He shifted from foot to foot, rubbing the back of his carefully-styled head as he met his companion’s gaze. “I just figured, you know, since we’re both on the same taskforce now, it would be a good bit of, erm… team-building? Allow us to become better acquainted and such, in a calm and safe environment.” Logan chuckled as he putted, giving a wry, but genuine grin. “Y’know it’s a competitive sport, eh? If you can even call it a sport… Ahh, but what th’ hell, Sung-chul. Guess the sentiment still counts ‘n a–” “O-oh heavens, Logan, look! Look, you’ve done it, it’s sunk!” He twitched a bit from the sudden outburst, looking a second too late to see the ball enter the hole, but he smiled all the same. “Hah! Guess I did. That’s, ehhh… what, par? Can’t be a birdie, can it…?” Before his verbalized thought could develop any further, the harsh buzz of the phone in his pocket stopped him in his tracks. With a swift and fluid motion, he whipped it out and brought it to his ear. “Yeah? ‘S Loga–… Oh, uh…” Sung-chul’s eyes widened behind his little spectacles, and he drew closer to Logan. Although he couldn’t quite hear what was being said on the other end, he hung near and watched with keen intent. “...Damn, that quick? Well–… Yes ma’am, understood. Yeah, he’s with me, we were just, uh– We’ll be off in a moment’s notice, eh?” “...Goodness.” Knowing already that their game couldn’t finish, Sung-chul went to collect the ball out of the hole. His gaze kept fixed on Logan and the phone. “...We’ll do our best, ma’am, thanks. G’bye.” Logan’s thumb mashed the button on his Blackberry before he deposited it back in his pocket. He gave Sung-chul a lingering and stern sort of look, scratching at his patchy beard with his long nails. “...We’ve gotta go to Texas, eh? There’s been a serial killer out east, apparently. Weird-soundin’ shit, and Mendez is callin’ out the whole lot of us for it. You ready, Poindexter?” “…” Although concerned and a bit dismayed to be so swiftly uprooted from his week’s plans, he gave a firm nod. “Always ready… Ah, and I know Texas! That should come in handy, yes?” Logan was already walking back towards the building, hands tucked in his pockets. “Let’s hope.” Plot The arc opened with a description of Greyrock, as the bus of F.B.I investigators, some rookie, some veteran, made their way to the town to begin their work. After a bit of small talk from all parties, the bus approached Greyrock proper, as an agent, Dia, waited for the arrival of Agent Spector, recognized by On the bus, Agent Sendou fretted over his newfound acquaintances and the mission at hand, while Agent Midoriya went over his notes on the case itself, while introducing himself to Agent Rider. Agents Mars and Salvadore made small talk as the latter checked her gear for the umpteenth time. Category:Arcs